


Thirty Day Guarantee

by timeforsomethrillingheroics



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M, a few days after Wendy's unexpected visit to the hospital and Taras mandatory psyc evaluation, set sometime near the end of season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:00:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeforsomethrillingheroics/pseuds/timeforsomethrillingheroics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why didn’t you stop me?” she asked in a expressionless voice.</p>
<p>He shrugged again.</p>
<p>“Figured you needed it.” He responded, rocking back on the top step and bracing his hands out behind him, smoke curling up from the half finished cigarette that was settled loosely between his fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty Day Guarantee

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: [[x]](http://archiveofourown.org/works/970779)
> 
> I didn't know I wanted the thing until I read the thing. Then I knew I wanted the thing.
> 
> I tried to do Tara's characterization justice to where she was at the end of season 4, right after losing her only out and being forced into a medically induced coma but I'm sure I failed miserably. I debated back and forth on posting this because I love Tara so much and I knew what ever I was going to write wasn't going to come anywhere close to how complex and rich of a character she is, but here we are. I hope you'll bear with me anyways. Also please for the love of god forgive me for trying to talk how Chibs talks because I'm horrible at accents and it was just a really bad situation.
> 
> Unbetad so please point out mistakes as you find them. Feedback (positive or negative) is always appreciated.
> 
> Title from ['Thirty Whacks'](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TS8Oe6MWPZI) by The Dresden Dolls. [Full lyrics: [here](http://www.dresdendolls.com/downloads_n_lyrics/lyrics/thirtywhacks.htm) .]

Tara could feel the anger bubbling beneath her skin again, trying to escape through those immaculate stitches. To use her body against her will. It was hiding under the bulky cast her arm was encased in, making her limbs vibrate with effort to keep from not tearing everything apart. To give into that violent whisper in the back of her head, the need to move. To do something. To do anything. 

_Anything_ but sit still.

She looked at the neat little row of pictures hanging cheerfully side by side on the wall opposite to her and imagined sweeping them off their hooks in a single unbridled motion. How the glass would sound when it hit the wooden floor, the metal frames denting on impact. She imagined flinging them down the hall one by one, letting them smash on the other side. She knew she couldn't though. If she started she wouldn’t be able to stop. She’d try to destroy everything.

And she couldn’t do that. Not here. Not now. 

She looked over at the closed door of her son’s room, indistinct in the dim glow of the small night light placed carefully at the bottom of the hall and felt a bubble of hysterical laughter caw at her throat. She pressed shaking fingers over her lips, trying to drown out the manic smile that was making her mouth stretch into a wide gash - chin trembling violently, as if she was in pain. 

She didn’t want to wake her children after all.

She trailed her good hand down the wall as she stepped quietly forward, numb fingers tracing uneven bumps in the paint. She imagined cracking them open with a sledge hammer and then letting them fall to dust. Smashing the toys in Thomas’s chest one by one. Pouring gasoline on her and Jackson's bed. Lighting the match. 

‘Perfect little family’ she murmured in an exhale as soft as a sigh, hand now pressed gently against her sons closed door. She let the pressure under her palm increase and watched the door swing slowly open, a crack of yellow light falling onto the edge of his crib before withdrawing quickly from the doorframe and turning her face away. She couldn’t look at him right now. 

She stood there motionlessly for a moment, face angled away from her sleeping children, body ridged with inaction - and then slumped down the side of the wall, letting her feet brace out in front of her and her back curl forward until she was wrapped in a tight ball, her cast cradled against her chest and her good arm locked tightly around her knees. Her side pinched uncomfortably where the hard plaster was digging into her ribs, but she didn’t move. Just let her forehead rest against the tops of her legs, eyes screwed tightly shut. 

She didn’t realize she was trying to clench her hands until she felt a white hot stab of pain jolt up her arm, bones recently pinned together grinding uncomfortably. She clenched her fists harder, ignoring the way her nerves sang in protest. She took a couple deep breaths and then carefully unclenched her whitening knuckles, spreading trembling fingers as wide as they would go before releasing them limply. Pain brought her back in focus. Let her gain some semblance of control.

Tara got up slowly, carefully – the quiet of the house pressing uncomfortably in on her eardrums. She glanced down the hall at the open door of her and her husbands bedroom before silently walking to the kitchen. She paced back and forth along the tile floor like a caged animal. Quick, angry steps ringing against the still air. The only illumination that was coming into the room was from the window over the sink. It let in pale moonlight that spilled over empty chairs and dirty dishes, showing Tara more than she wanted to see. 

She glanced at the full sink and then glanced quickly away again, clenching and unclenching her fist at her side. Her anger felt too large to fit inside her body. Like it had filled her up to the brim and was now bloating her, threatening to rip through her skin to get out. 

It shouldn’t be possible to hold that much rage inside such a fragile casing she thought, feeling very far away and much too close all at once. 

She felt like maybe she should be crying, but it was as if she’d forgotten how. Like crying was reserved other people, with normal lives. People who didn’t have husbands who did what hers did. People who weren’t responsible for the things she was.

She glanced back over at the window and then made her way to the sink, turning on the tap with stiff fingers – letting the water run until it was scalding before reaching out slowly to pick up a dishcloth, ignoring how her other arm was pressed uselessly against her chest, wrapped in a crisp white sling. 

She got through two plates before the wine glass stem cracked in her hand. She stared at it dumbly for a moment, opened her fist slowly and let two separate pieces of glass smash into the bottom of the sink with a loud clang. There was a thin line over her palm, whiter than the rest of her skin. ‘Adipose tissue’ her brain supplied unhelpfully as her skin finally remembered to bleed. 

She closed her eyes and gripped thick material of her jeans firmly, took a deep breath before slowly picking up a plate and jerkily walking to the front door. It was harder than it should have been, trying to use stiff fingers already holding something to twist open the doorknob, but she managed. She didn’t slow down or falter once she got outside. Just used the same jerky steps that had gotten her this far to cross the porch and walk down the front steps, pausing for a moment at the place where sidewalk met stairs before swinging her hand back wide, letting it hover for just a second above her head and then bringing down her arm as hard as she could and letting it fly. The plate sailed a good 20 feet before smashing into the trunk of a tree with a satisfying crunch. She turned around blindly and with the same precise steps made her way back into the house, picked up as many dishes as she could carry with one hand and did the process all over again. Rinse and repeat she thought numbly as her feet carried her back and forth through the front door, until finally there weren’t any more dishes left to smash. 

She stood on the porch silently for a moment, arm stiff at her side – imagining how the fragmented china looked under the inky black night sky. She could just make out a solitary piece glinting in the steady glow of the corner streetlight. She nodded once, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly through her nose and said ‘Okay’ into the muggy night air. ‘Okay.’ She’d have to clean it up before Jax got back. From – well. Where ever he was. Tara found that she didn’t really care much about knowing in that particular moment.

She turned around, body still ridged in leftover anger - and jerked back in surprise. 

‘I forgot you were here’ she said after a moment, her voice ringing flatly into the silence. She felt her hand twitch and worked to keep her face as blank as possible. She looked at the smoke curling up over strong, relaxed fingers and black leather. She focused on the cut instead of the man’s face, noting absently how the leather bunched where he had braced his elbows on his knees and leaned over. 

He gave her a small shrug. 

‘Kinda the point, innit?’ Chibs replied easily into the night air. ‘I’d be a pretty shite bodyguard if I went around announcin.’ 

“Why didn’t you stop me?” she asked in a expressionless voice and then gripped her hand more firmly, regretting her rage more now that she knew that there had been someone there to witness it. 

He shrugged again. It didn’t seem like he was looking at her in the face either. That made it easier somehow. 

“Figured you needed it.” He responded, rocking back on the top step and bracing his hands out behind him, smoke still curling up from the half finished cigarette pressed between his fingers. He was sitting in the shadow of the rail, only half his face illuminated by the streetlight that hummed irritatingly a few houses down.

“Oh.” She said neutrally after a long pause, focusing all her energy into stop the little tremors that were racking up and down her frame. She felt rather than saw him give her a quick once over, as if checking for physically damage. He didn’t say anything though. Just patted the stair next to him in a silent invitation. She hesitated for a moment, one foot half on the step and half off before sitting down silently next to the older man and looking out over the lawn with glassy eyes. They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for the cigarette pressed between Chibs fingers to burn into ash. 

He filched around in his pocket for another one and said “Almost went in when I heard the first dish break” in a conversational voice - letters stretching and shortening strangely in his thick accent. “Figured if you were in real trouble though you’d start screamin.” She nodded silently, knowing he wasn’t looking at her. He paused as he finally got his fingers around the small metal lighter that had been buried deep in his cut and flicked it open with nimble fingers, a cigarette already pressed loosely between his lips. Tara looked over at the cherry glow between his cupped fingers and then looked away. She felt rather than saw him inhale, sucking until the end of the cigarette glowed orange.

“Ripped my stitches the first week out” he said casually into the silence, like they were talking about the weather. “Doc’s were afraid I’d got gang green I took so long gettin to tha hospital."

She was looking at him now, but he was still looking out across the yard, a small smile stretching the lopsided scar on his cheek into a straighter line. “Mate dragged me there. Said I looked like right shite with half my face flappin in the breeze and spillin blood all over his carpet.” Tara felt suddenly guilty. Like she was intruding on something she shouldn't be. Something large and private that had nothing to do with her. She felt like she should probably say something, but she didn’t know what so she stayed silent and still, body wrapped awkwardly around itself on the front stoop. 

Just as the silence started to feel strained the older man mutely offered her the half finished cigarette, eyes still trained out over the lawn. She took it with trembling fingers and sucked down a long inhale, feeling a tiny spark of gratitude light up in her chest. No need to talk if there was smoke filling both their lungs. 

They passed the trail of smouldering tobacco back and forth between themselves until it was down to the filter, each taking a single drag before handing it across the dark step, eyes looking up out over the stars. 

It was easier somehow, being around someone who wasn't so close to it. Who didn't look at her like there whole world depended on her getting better. Being functional. Not to crack up. Someone who didn't seem to be that worried she had just smashed almost all the glasses she owned into tiny fragments and scattered them across the lawn.

Chibs ended up being the one to grind the butt into the cement, snuffing out the last of the warm glow and smearing ash in a straight line across concrete. Tara felt a weird ping of satisfaction, looking at the line of black slashing through a once white surface. She felt Chibs shift as he slowly stretched to his feet but kept her eyes trained on that little smudge of ash, letting it take up all of her vision. She only looked up when she thought the older man had enough time to look away, focus his eyes on something else besides her broken hand and hunched shoulders. His eyes were trained directly on hers though as he offered out a firm hand and pulled her to her feet. "You'll get fixed some way or another doc." He said over his shoulder, already walking up the steps towards the interior of the house. "Got too many people around pushin for anything else." She was grateful he only looked back for a moment before looking away again.

He turned around and surveyed the lawn for a long breath before turning and offering her a arm, like they were in an old fashioned western. She slipped her good hand into the crook of his elbow as he opened the door for both of them and led her inside the house. "Now come on" he said easily, flipping on the light switch in the front hall and blinking for a moment while his eyes adjusted. "Not safe outside anyhow, with all tha - well," he paused awkwardly and then added "Jax'll be a while but that don't mean you get ta feel sorry for yerself." He patted the hand that she had wrapped around his inner arm once and gently disentangled them. "Your job is to make a pillow fort in the living room for when the bairn wakes up." He smiled and then turned to go back outside. "Mine is to clean up before Jax gets back."

Tara vaguely wondered what a bairn was before nodding once at his retreating back and then walking slowly into the living room, plopping down spinelessly onto the couch and pulling a pillow close to her chest. 

"I meant it now!" she heard faintly from outside the screen door. "I expect a decent attempt by tha time I get back. Forts don't build themselves." She felt a small, but genuine smile tug at the corners of her lips as she murmured 'Yeah okay' and got to work.


End file.
